


Otters in the Flight Deck

by fractionallyfoxtrot



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Crack, Gen, Otters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-23
Updated: 2012-11-23
Packaged: 2017-11-19 07:59:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractionallyfoxtrot/pseuds/fractionallyfoxtrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Otters have taken over the flight deck!  No, seriously, otters have taken over the flight deck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Otters in the Flight Deck

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt on the meme: ["Douglas says "“Historically, very few hijackings have been carried out by otters.” "Very few" is not "none." I want the story of one of the "very few," please."](http://cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/6034.html?thread=9253010#cmt9253010)
> 
> Alternative title: Do as Skipper Says, Not as Skip Does

“I told you.”

“Yes, Martin. I’m well aware of the fact that it was you who told me.”

“I. Told. You.”

“While I know how rare it is for you to be correct about anything, I really don’t think this is the appropriate time to gloat.”

“I told you,” Martin repeated, “that I didn’t want to fly with a live otter in the flight deck. I’m the captain! If everyone had just listened to me, we wouldn’t be in this mess!”

Douglas glanced over at their furry captors. Two otters were in the chairs normally occupied by Martin and himself. The one in the captain’s seat was wearing a simple green tunic. His little hands (paws?) were wrapped around the control column and he looked very much like he knew what he was doing. The one in Douglas’ seat was also wearing a tunic. She was slouched down in the chair with the cheese tray laid out over her stomach, her little feet propped up against the instruments.

“I hate to argue with you, Captain,” said Douglas, turning his attention back to Martin, “but something tells me that exclusion from the flight deck wouldn’t have protected us from this particular romp.”

“What?” Martin asked. “Romp? What’s a romp?”

“A group of otters,” Douglas answered. “It’s a term I think you should familiarize yourself with now that we’ve been hijacked by one.”

Martin groaned and returned to testing the bonds that held him. Both pilots were sitting on opposite sides of the flight deck floor with their hands bound together behind their backs. Douglas’ feet were bound not only to each other but also to Martin’s which prevented him from slipping his hands out from under his legs. 

Martin missed the opening of the flight deck door because his neck was turned to its limit in an attempt to get a better look at his hands; he didn’t miss the sharp rap to his head by a wooden spear being wielded by the otter that entered the flight deck.

“Ow!”

“If you don’t struggle, I won’t hit you,” the otter said warningly.

The spear-wielding otter picked up Martin’s captain’s hat and stepped over the bound feet of the pilots.

“All secure in the back, Skipper,” the otter reported.

“Thanks, Denga,” said Skipper, the otter in the captain’s seat.

Denga offered Skipper Martin’s hat. The higher ranking otter took one hand off the control column and dropped the hat onto his head. He let out a deep chuckle as his vision was obscured by the largely oversized hat. He lifted the brim with his hand and looked over at the otter in Douglas’ seat.

“How do I look, Lara?” he asked.

Lara’s head tilted to one side as she straightened in the chair to get a better look at Skipper.

“Dashing,” she said with a wink. “You look just like one of those pipots, Skipper.”

“Pilots,” Denga corrected.

“Right, pilots.” Lara sniffed one of the cheeses from the cheese tray and crinkled her nose before putting it back. “Say, Denga, how’s Tooban coming along with the soup?” she asked. “Skipper said it might be a while before we get back to the ocean and I don’t think it’s just me getting hungry.”

Denga reached for one of the cheeses and stuffed it into his mouth without prejudice. “Ask him yourself,” he mumbled around the Emmental.

“Tooban!” Lara shouted out through the open flight deck door. “How’s the soup coming along?”

Arthur walked into the flight deck with an otter perched on his shoulders, an otter pup in his arms, and two more clinging to his legs.

“Shouldn’t be long now!” Tooban announced from Arthur’s shoulders. “This one showed us how to get the water boiling and we filled as many pots as we could find. There’s not enough bowls and cups for everyone though so we’ll have to take turns.”

“Arthur, why are you helping them?” Martin asked incredulously.

“They’re otters, Skip,” Arthur explained. “They don’t know how to use the sink, or the kettle, or the microwave.”

The pup in Arthur’s arms burst into a fit of giggles. “That’s not Skipper,” she laughed.

Arthur shook his head. “Well, no. That’s Martin. He’s the Skipper because he’s in charge.”

“No,” the pup giggled again. She pointed at Skipper. “That’s Skipper. _He’s_ in charge.”

“So, Skipper’s the Skipper?” Arthur questioned.

“He’s not the Skipper, I’m the Skipper,” Martin argued.

“I don’t know, Martin,” said Douglas. “He is the one in the captain’s seat, wearing the captain’s hat.”

“ _I am the Skipper_ ,” Martin stressed. “There is a chain of command on this aircraft and I’m the one at the top, not some otter in a hat! Ow!”

Martin glared at Denga; Denga glared back, brandishing his spear as a warning after the latest strike to Martin’s head. Skipper gave a short whistle and Denga pulled back his spear. He switched places with Skipper, climbing into the captain’s seat and taking control of the plane while Skipper took his spear and approached Martin. Skipper saw eye-to-eye with Martin sitting on the floor. The otter dropped Martin’s hat into his lap, studying Martin carefully.

“Are you Skipper of the Searock tribe?” Skipper asked.

“No,” Martin answered, “but I am the supreme commander of this aircraft.”

“Not anymore,” said Skipper, shaking his head. “The Searock tribe’s got the plane and, as Skipper of the tribe, I think that makes me supreme commander of this aircraft.”

“May I just say how surprisingly well-suited for the job you seem to be? For an otter, of course,” Douglas added.

A chuckle broke Skipper’s sternness. He backed away from Martin and stood between the two pilots.

“We’re fair creatures, not like rats or weasels,” he assured them. “You’ll get your aircraft back once we get to the ocean. Don’t give us any trouble and we might even let you have some hotroot soup.”

“If there’s any left after the tribe eats,” said Lara, turning the squidgy one in the foil packet in her hands.

“And has seconds,” added Denga.

“And thirds!” the pup in Arthur’s arms cheered.

“It smells really good,” Arthur chimed in. “And other than showing them how stuff works, I didn’t help with any of the cooking.”

“Always a comforting thing to hear about our food, Arthur,” said Douglas. “It sounds delightful.”

Martin gaped as he looked between Douglas and Arthur. “That’s it? Soup? You’re both willing to give up GERTI for _soup_?”

“We’re not giving her up, Martin. Skipper’s assured us that we’ll get her back once they reach their destination.” Douglas leaned towards the baffled young pilot. “Sometimes it’s best to just go with the flow, Captain,” he cautioned in a low tone.

“No! I will not just go with the flow!” Martin twisted and turned, struggling to pull his hands free from the ropes that bound him. “I am the captain of this aircraft and I will not sit idly by while- _OW_!”

Martin hunched over, groaning under the sting of Skipper’s blow. Skipper leaned on the wooden spear, chuckling lightly as he shook his head. The otter pups on Arthur’s legs jumped down and moved over to Martin. They put their little hands into his hair and rubbed his head in what seemed intended to be a soothing manner. Douglas tried not to laugh as he offered Martin another hushed sentiment.

“I told you.”


End file.
